We were falling in slow motion through the dark void of the rabbit’s hole and the world was shimmering with black hues around us. I could hear nothing, and I could see nothing but the pale darkness of that lucid night.
And no, my mind did not scream out in terror, instead, it kept thinking absolutely nothing.
We were falling.
And that is all I know. It was not startling, scary or strange. We were just falling through the dark night as I held your hand.
Like two leafs chained and locked together by wayward chance, entangled on a quantum level. We sailed the eastern wind on the void of a black river.
We rushed down the stones and cascading falls like the rush of a white water raft splashing against the tempest and falls of the roaring river.
And so, we kept falling.
Soundless, and voiceless, two bodies slowly drifting up or down, I could not tell.
And I held your hand.
I wondered where the world had gone.
Perhaps you did too?
I wondered, About the dark, the silence. The fall itself. And why I could not see you.
Interlude, moments from the stream, Pakistan & India
The monsoon flooded the two warring nations.
Pouncing their fertile minds with the exhaustion of rivers pent up and dams breached and ruptured.
Villages drowned, and what farmland remained after the war of harvest was swept away with the wild and all the people.
The monsoon swept entire valleys out into the sea.
Bringing further soil and nutrients into the water, further increasing the toxicity, growing the blooming algae even further, stronger and bigger.
In the end, the dead water increased in size, sucking out even more oxygen. And as the rain kept pouring down, the dead and worthless soil increased as well.
A mirror image of southern USA.
Each time we fell through the ether, your voice guided me back to the center.
“focus” you said, soft and sweet into my ear. And I swear, I could feel your fingers, against my face and hair.
“balance on the surface now”, you liked that phrase. And you talked about it as the in-between, the grounded now of past and future.
“Find me”. Was the words that always woke me up.
Right before the morning song of bells and whistles and daylights warming light.
I sat up, once again, surrounded by the whitest warmth like every other morning.
Our sheets of white when they weren’t soft and black, and the sun that burned with pleasantness against my skin.
The fucking alarm, I could not say that I actually hated it, I did not hate much, but there was not much fun to it either.
My hand reached out, turning off the buzzing alarm on my phone. And then I turned towards you, to take you in, and there you were, as delicious as always.
You were laying on your side and tummy, with your red hair splashed out against the pillow and your sensuous skin.
And it fascinated me, how the sun always painted every red strain on your sleepy head with such incredible beauty, yellow streaks of life and white luminescence brought warmth inside our room, warmth, and life that spread across my face and mind, down onto your naked back where it painted little horses that galloped across your shoulder and neck.
I gently reached out and with delight I let my fingers trace down your skin as I allowed myself to just sit there, right next to you and enjoy this sight, and the touch of your skin and the feel of your presence.
This was without a doubt my favorite each morning, to wake up slightly ahead of you and to just enjoy your sleeping company.
Your sleeping company and delicious beauty.
But my heart was out of character today, racing and feeling a tiny bit amped up.
My skin was sweaty. And the hair on my body tingling.
Cold, prickly skin and chills shivered slow and quite gentle through me. And with it, came that serendipity when life simply put tells you that you are not alone with icy fingers of certainty.
A tap reached out to me, like a moving rodent in the prevailing silence of an empty house, and outside of the tap, everything was silent.
No, the neighbor’s lawnmower, I could hear it, I smiled.
But, quite soon, there it was again, and this time the tapping continued, forcing me to turn my head and listen to the air around me, the acoustics and the wave of sound.
I turned my body more towards the porch.
And out of the light, just outside on the other side of our tall, sky high bedroom doors of clean glass, three ravens came forward, like ghosts that stepped into the visual wavelength of this world.
They looked, straight inside our bedroom.
Neither of them seemed to move.
They just sat there and patiently waited looking right back at us and with what I can only describe as an act of almost gentle motion, they at times tapped the bedroom doors with their beaks of gleaming dark.
Buy and own my book
( or wait for the next chapter to appear here on my ‘Beyond2c’ magazine.)